Morphing Memory
I sit, and watch, and wait
For the time, the place, the date
In a tree by the whitewashed gate
The moment more than a minute late
Stuck in a horrific scatterbrained state
As if insisting an ingress interest rate
Risking return to a tabula rasa slate
No longer the proprietress of prized real estate
Solely searching for the squandered second to relocate
Eternal anticipation for a sudden soothing spate
Fluctuating failure that hopefully time can eliminate
Desire to keep things straight and communicate, lifting this worn weight